


Like Going Home

by nouvellebrielle



Category: Saiyuki, Saiyuki Gaiden
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4782512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nouvellebrielle/pseuds/nouvellebrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there. I do not sleep.</i>  </p><p>There should be a manual on reincarnation and transcendence, written in plain and simple prose instead of indecipherable Sanskrit. That way, Gojyo would have some sort of idea of what to expect when his best friend dies and a god returns in his stead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Going Home

The steering wheel bites into the raw calluses on Gojyo’s palms but he has only has one more stop to make after this. He watches as Sanzo stumbles out of the jeep with a heavy grunt of thanks, balancing himself against the door as he stares up at the hundreds of steps ascending to Keiun Temple.

 

‘Need help?’ Gojyo asks. A pillar fell across Sanzo’s leg when Houtou castle started crumbling and it hasn’t been the same since.

 

Sanzo’s irritated glare is answer enough. He turns his back on Gojyo with proud deliberateness. Gojyo doesn’t drive off until Sanzo’s nearly at the top, hobbling towards the tall gates and brushing off all help from his doting entourage. He’s crippled by the burden of carrying all five scriptures on his shoulders and the shadow of the monkey’s disappearance hangs over him like a wraith. But Sanzo’s back is straight and he doesn’t look at Gojyo as he enters the temple and vanishes from sight.

 

Gojyo wishes he were that strong. He’s not, which is why he doesn’t go into town to rent a room in an inn. He doesn’t ask about the marketplaces for vacancies that he can rent. What he does instead is to drive back to an abandoned house on the outskirts of Chou An, to a crumbling shack that’s probably inhabitable by now.

 

It’s midnight by the time he reaches, the midsummer moon the only light that’s illuminating the single winding path, as familiar as home itself. The door has been kicked open, some asshole has tracked mud all over the floor, but there’s no one home. Gojyo drops what little baggage he has on the moth-eaten couch and stumbles over to the bedroom.

 

There’ve been squatters but no one has stolen the stack of books by the window. He brushes fingers through the thick layer of dust on their covers, and suddenly feels foolish at having worried that they would be gone.

 

Tomorrow he’ll have to reinstall the plumbing and get the utilities up and running again. Tonight he collapses into bed and dreams of desert sandstorms.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Gojyo wakes the next morning to a massive headache and an agitated _kyuu_ ing outside his window. The room is sweltering and there are bites all over his body from thirsty mattress bugs; the damned thing needs to be thrown out and a new one bought to replace it. Gojyo staggers to his feet and flips the latch, backing away as Hakuryuu barrels into the room with an indignant cry.

 

‘Sorry,’ Gojyo mutters.

 

The dragon curls up in an exhausted ball on the table, safely out of the scorching harvest sun. His red eyes are beady and accusing from where they peer at Gojyo over his white plumage and Gojyo feels a stab of guilt that lingers well past his apology. It’s a brutal dry season this year, with droughts spreading across the yellowing land. Gojyo saw more than his fair share of it on the drive back, not saying a thing as Sanzo took in the suffering of the people with his knuckles clenched white in his robes. To leave Hakuryuu outside in the heat is the kind of irresponsible that Gojyo hasn’t done since forever.   

 

He treks to the nearest well, managing to retrieve the last remnants of water for Hakuryuu and himself. There are a couple of apple trees bearing fruit and Gojyo scales one to pluck a few. It’ll tide them over until he gets the groceries done.

 

After his measly breakfast, Gojyo throws on his jacket and prepares to head into the city. It’s hot enough that he’ll walk around shirtless if he could, but his markings paint his entire torso in dark red flames. It’s been a while since the minus wave was dispelled but still people run away from demons when they see them. Things will improve now that King Kougaiji’s in power but it’s not going to happen overnight. For now, Gojyo’ll rather endure his sweat-soaked singlet and leather jacket combination than terrorise Ah Chen the baker.

 

He manages to convince Hakuryuu into changing form and driving them to the western market. Gojyo peers at the wares. It’s a poor haul for this time of the year but they can’t afford to be picky, not when there aren’t enough crops to feed everyone. Gojyo doesn’t know how to choose either, but Old Lu takes pity on him and gives him the best vegetables out of the lot.

 

‘It’s nothing,’ he protests when Gojyo tries to thank him. ‘You’re heroes.’ Old Lu bows in the direction of the temple. He doesn’t ask why it’s Gojyo who is doing the shopping. Gojyo’s gratitude lodges itself in his throat and he wanders off before the unspoken questions make things awkward.

 

It’s easy enough to find a new mattress. Mrs. Mei even sends her boys to deliver it on the spot. Gojyo stops by the imperial utilities agency to arrange for water and electricity, both of which are under ration, he hears. But they’ll get it up and running just for him, since he’s one of the reasons why Shangri-La’s still around. One of four. Gojyo wants to tell them that he never wanted to be a saviour or some other self-righteous shit like that, but he’s too tired to argue and the well near his house is almost dry. He could also use a shower.

 

There’s just one last place he needs to go to before heading home. The stone mason’s in the craftsman’s district and Gojyo wants to purchase two slabs of polished grey stone and a chisel. He’ll work the names in himself. It doesn’t feel right to leave it to a stranger, even if it’s one as sympathetic and generous as Meng.

 

‘Take care of yourself, son,’ Meng says as Gojyo’s walking out. ‘That’s the job of the living.’

 

Thing is, Gojyo’s never been good at holding down a job.

 

His backyard is a tiny clearing that leads straight into the trees. Gojyo considers the patch of sunshine just outside his kitchen window then decides against it. Jien will like that but Hakkai’s always preferred the shade in the bowers. The ideal place to read, he used to say. Gojyo doesn’t want either of them to be alone.

 

It’s a short ten-minute hike to the place his mind keeps coming back to. There are no longer any landmarks to highlight its significance; the bloodstains were washed away years ago, rain blending it into the muddy trail during the monsoon season. But Gojyo remembers it like it was yesterday. He stands there, on the same exact spot from that night so many years ago, and finally stops thinking to observe a moment of silence. It’s a path seldom travelled and no one interrupts him. When he figures that it’s time, he goes over to the mossy roots of the tallest tree and gets to work.

 

Gojyo finishes Jien’s first. He already attended a funeral once, held by King Kougaiji and his beautiful fiancée in the ruins where Houtou once sat, before an earthquake swallowed the castle and all the dead within whole. Gojyo’s hands shake less as the chisel carves his brother’s name into the stone. He hasn’t had Jien for years anyway. It’s a loss that hurts but it’s a hurt that he’s had years of experience living with. It’s not going to kill him now.

 

The sun’s setting by the time he starts on Hakkai’s stone. And here Gojyo isn’t even sure that he’s doing things correctly. Hakkai didn’t leave any will, no final last words even as he died with a smile in Gojyo’s arms. And he was only in Gojyo’s arms because he pushed past Gojyo to take the fatal blow, the one that tore across his old scar and undid all of Gojyo’s handiwork in less than a second. Yeah, so that idiot upped and sacrificed himself and now Gojyo’s left to deal with the shittiest aftermath ever, not knowing whether Hakkai is— _was_ truly atheist, whether he wanted a tomb or an urn as his final resting place, whether he still hoped to have Kanan by his side.

 

Fuck. His hands are trembling too much to be precise so there isn’t enough space for the final stroke in the character ‘kai’. Gojyo waits until they steady before he brushes the powder off the stone. It doesn’t matter that there’s no light because demons have excellent eyesight. In the dark, Hakkai’s name is clear as day on his gravestone. Gojyo stares at it, knows that it wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for his slip-up during the fight, and hates himself for being more useless than usual. Never mind that he’s kept Hakkai from death on countless other occasions. All it takes is the one time that he didn’t.

 

Gojyo’s got nothing of Jien’s but the similar blood that flows in his veins. He lets some of this drip in front of Jien’s empty grave and in the other he buries Hakkai’s monocle, taken after Hakkai closed his eyes for good. It’s not much but it’s more than he ever expected from life. It isn’t good enough but it’s as good as it’s going to get.

 

It’s not much, but really, Gojyo’s got to learn to stop expecting more.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Years of sleeping on the road has left him antsy and restless, unable to settle back into his old skin without profuse itching. He supposes it’s the same with Hakuryuu, who scarfs down his breakfast before hightailing it out of the window and into the sky. Gojyo’s envious. He’s plagued by the perpetual urge to _move_ , to find something to distract himself with. It takes him the entire morning to delude himself into believing that it’s got nothing to do with wanting to escape the memories that still reside in his house.

 

He’s managed to delude himself as well into believing that there’s nothing wrong with calling it _his_ house.

 

It’s probably a good idea to visit Sanzo, which is why Gojyo does anything but. He knows what Sanzo’ll see after taking one look at him and Gojyo doesn’t want to be confronted with Sanzo’s philosophy on detachment. He’ll need it one day, maybe, but he’s not ready for that hypocritical crap yet.

 

So much for having the gods promise them a boring life. Gojyo _is_ bored. More than that, he’s purposeless and has no bloody clue how to go on like this. These deep musings lead to the eventual conclusion that he’ll start the rest of his remaining time with a quiet evening in.

 

This resolution lasts for as long as it takes for him to realise that he’s hunting through the barren kitchen for an ashtray when there are perfectly good empty beer cans begging to be used. Gojyo picks one up, drops his cigarette into it. He doesn’t flinch when Hakkai’s admonishment never comes but it’s a close call. Just like that, remaining in the house is no longer appealing and Gojyo grabs his keys, runs out onto the road, and makes his way through cricket song towards Chou An.

 

He’s relieved to see that his favourite bars are still in their usual places. Gojyo stumbles through the swinging doors of Tao’s and is greeted by a surprised chorus of cheers and backslaps. He’s bought endless rounds of drinks, accepts them one after another because he’s running low on money but can’t bring himself to touch a pack of cards. No one asks him if he has to go home to the ‘missus’ and the girls don’t tell him to introduce them to his housemate. Word spreads fast in this town. Gojyo knows that they’re being considerate of his feelings but it’s almost like Hakkai never existed and that may be more painful than hearing about him constantly.

 

He gets wasted but he doesn’t end up fucking anyone. The road back home is long and perilous but it’s one that he’s taken over and over again in the past and no one mugs him tonight or slits his throat in a dingy back-alley for his purse. He bends over to throw up in a ditch and a flash of lighting startles him, nearly sending him pitching forward to his death.

 

He eventually makes it back fine but the house may be burning down. Gojyo trips over the couch in a moment of confusion, unable to place the smell of vanilla and smoke, and hands catch him about the waist to steady him in their firm hold.

 

‘Are you _baking_?’ He mumbles the first thing that comes to his addled brain and receives a soft huff of laughter in return.

 

‘I’m not sure I can,’ Hakkai replies, which is nonsense since he makes the best cakes to ever grace Shangri-La.

 

‘Thank you for the compliment. It’s very kind of you, Gojyo. Now let’s get you to bed, shall we?’

 

Gojyo nods and closes his eyes because this is how things should be. He’ll rest for the first time in a year. It’s something to look forward to.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Gojyo dreams of a bridge, of Hakkai and his future titanium wife, and wakes up with his face wet. Exasperated, he trudges into the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. There’s a dull throbbing at the back of his head. He’s so out of sorts that it takes him a whole minute to realise he has shut off the water but can still hear the sink in the kitchen running on top of the clatter of pots and pans.

 

Pulling on a towel, Gojyo dashes out of his bedroom and stops short when he comes face to face with a man that could be Hakkai except for the minor discrepancies that jump out at Gojyo to emphasise the wrongness of it all.

 

This man has a name. It falls unbidden from Gojyo’s lips, bypassing conscious thought and going back through a history that lasts for millennia on end.

 

‘Yes,’ Tenpou says, sounding pleased. ‘That’s it exactly.’ He’s in Hakkai’s clothes, a loose black shirt and khaki trousers, and Gojyo’s lost for words. He isn’t sure what’s throwing him more, the cigarette dangling from Tenpou’s lips or how much the god looks like Cho Gonou.

 

Something’s sizzling on the stove. Tenpou flips the eggs and tosses them onto a plate of bacon and sausages. Gojyo’s pretty sure he didn’t buy those.

 

‘Orange juice or sake?’ Tenpou asks, as if it’s perfectly normal for dead gods to come back after their current incarnation dies and serve up the best breakfast Gojyo’s seen since said incarnation’s death.

 

‘What are you doing?’ Gojyo asks in reply.

 

There’s an uncomfortable pause. Tenpou worries his lower lip with his teeth, looks at the plates, then back at Gojyo again as he gives a very unsatisfactory shrug.

 

‘Apparently,’ he says, ‘I can cook more than ramen.’

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Breakfast passes in silence. Gojyo doesn’t know how to get the conversation going but he’s pretty sure that ‘hey, how’s your day, how’s Heaven’ isn’t it. Not to mention that Tenpou’s face is every bit as haunting as his name and Gojyo is tempted to reach over the table and touch him, just to confirm that he’s really here and that Gojyo hasn’t gone mad. It’s a very definite possibility.

 

Tenpou’s observing him too, although he’s being subtle about it and sneaking glances when he thinks that Gojyo isn’t looking. Too bad Gojyo hasn’t stopped.

 

Tenpou waves his fork at the house, table manners that Hakkai would never have condoned. Gojyo swallows around a bit of bacon and wishes he would stop noticing small details like that.

 

‘This place,’ Tenpou says. ‘It’s better kept than I expected it to be.’

 

‘Wiped it down.’

 

‘So you did.’

 

Another silence. The only thing keeping Gojyo from running screaming out of the house is the feeling that despite Tenpou’s apparent nonchalance, he’s feeling as wrong-footed as Gojyo is.  

 

‘Thanks for breakfast,’ Gojyo tries, once they’ve cleared the plates and are hanging around the living room waiting for the other to say something first. Tenpou’s got military patience, it seems. Gojyo stood no chance.  

 

‘You’re always welcome.’

 

‘The eggs were really good.’

 

‘I know you like them scrambled.’

 

He does. It’s small comfort that Tenpou seems to remember that. There’s too much about him that sits at odds with Gojyo’s perception. The lines between Hakkai and this doppelganger with too many resonant vibes are unable to blur together.  

 

He’ll go in to Keiun once he’s done fixing the broken door. Sanzo isn’t going to appreciate a drop-in if he’s busy with whatever it is monks do, but Gojyo needs to see him. Sanzo will be able to shed some insight on why exactly there’s a deity, like those floating heads that hover about issuing orders to the religious, flipping idly through Hakkai’s copy of The Three Kingdoms.

 

Gojyo also wants to check if Goku’s shown up again, in the same fashion as his mysterious disappearance into the aether. If there’s anyone with a bizarre god form, it’s likely to be him. But Sanzo hasn’t spoken about Goku ever since. Gojyo’s never been scared of Sanzo but this is a subject that he isn’t looking forward to broaching, the mere thought of it capable of clouding Sanzo’s eyes with something dark and unholy. Anyone half-blind can see that Sanzo draws his strength from sheer, stubborn pride but that kind of strength is fragile. Gojyo can speak from experience.

 

Turns out, Sanzo doesn’t need visiting. It’s a quarter past two when he shows up, leaning on a long cane and in full regalia even though it’s a good forty degrees outside. Tenpou looks up from his sprawl on the floor, fingers bookmarking a page as his eyes widen behind his glasses then narrow at their visitor.

 

‘You,’ Sanzo barks, in what Gojyo recognises as his default speaking voice these days. He’s looking straight at Tenpou, must know that he’s yelling at a god, perhaps even which god this is. As much as Gojyo’ll never admit it, Sanzo’s not stupid. He’ll put two and two together while others are still figuring out the equation.

 

Tenpou cocks his head to a side as he eyes Sanzo with interest.

 

‘You’re far less boring now,’ he concludes with hearty cheer. ‘Not that I didn’t already know that, in a way.’

 

Sanzo glares hard at him. ‘Was that ostentatious beam of light you?’

 

Tenpou blinks. ‘You noticed?’

 

‘I think the whole of _China_ noticed.’

 

Gojyo gives up pretending to nail the door back in place and tosses the hammer back into the toolbox. ‘I didn’t notice,’ he cuts in.

 

Sanzo rolls his eyes. ‘Why am I not surprised?’

 

‘Definitely didn’t notice you asking permission to come barging in but look, eh?’

 

‘Hn.’ Sanzo rummages about his sleeves and comes up with a pack of cigarettes. ‘I’m not here to contend with your idiocy—’

 

‘Oi _—_ ’

 

‘—I need to confirm the source of that light.’

 

Tenpou waves. ‘Only one god in the area,’ he announces, getting to his feet with a grace that makes Gojyo look away.

 

‘The Three Aspects said that the dimension gate has been locked.’

 

‘There are other ways to descend. Your aunt can tell you as much, she’s an expert in this matter.’

 

Sanzo makes an annoyed noise. ‘They should destroy the damn thing.’

 

‘You don’t truly want that,’ is Tenpou’s airy reply.

 

Sanzo tenses up. ‘Whatever,’ he replies, the word sharp and defensive. Perhaps, like Gojyo, he’s waiting for news that Goku’s returned to Heaven. ‘I don’t want any trouble from either of you, you hear?’

 

‘Yes, Sanzo,’ Tenpou says with enough of Hakkai’s false deference to set them all on edge. Sanzo grits his teeth and stalks off.  

 

‘Should you be walking around so much—hey—’ Gojyo makes to go after him but is held fast by the quiet call of his name.

 

‘I’ll let him be if I were you,’ Tenpou advises. ‘He’s not in any frame of mind to listen to reason.’

 

 _Neither am I_ , Gojyo thinks, one step away from hysteria as he stares at Tenpou like looking long and hard enough will give him some of the answers he wants.

 

‘Is Goku up there?’ he asks, throat running dry with anticipation. He wants to know almost as much as he doesn’t. It’s the one hope he’s been harbouring since Goku’s fight with that kid ex-war god knocked them both out of existence. Kanzeon was remarkably tight-lipped on the subject, which made it even more suspicious.

 

But Tenpou is shaking his head and Gojyo has to laugh a little to cope with the painful surge of disappointment and grief.

 

‘Shit.’

 

‘I’m sorry,’ Tenpou says. ‘I searched for him as soon as I received news.’

 

‘You don’t think he may be—’

 

‘Goku? He’s too powerful for that.’

 

Gojyo scrubs his face with his hands and slumps down to the floor.

 

‘You know,’ he says with a bitter chuckle. ‘We became these heroes we never wanted to be. After all that, this seems like piss for repayment.’

 

Tenpou tosses a pack of unopened Hi-Lites his way and he catches them, ripping open the packaging and rummaging about his pockets for his lighter.

 

‘He’ll come back eventually,’ Tenpou says at last. ‘Now what would you like for dinner tonight? Since I’ve become some sort of domestic god, I may as well make the most of it.’

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Dinner was almost casual and that may be why Gojyo ends up letting his guard down prematurely. He’s at the point where he’s just starting to accept the small nuances in Tenpou’s personality that peg him as a different individual to Hakkai. Which so happens to be the precise point where he walks into the living room to see Tenpou standing in the middle, arms folded and unhappy frown on his face.

 

Gojyo spots the problem straightaway.

 

‘What’s going on?’

 

‘Karmic retribution,’ Tenpou retorts.

 

‘Right,’ Gojyo says, careful to sound tentative because Tenpou’s frustration is palpable at the moment and Gojyo doesn’t want to know what gods are capable of when they lose their temper. He thinks he already has some clue. ‘I take it that you’re not the neat sort.’

 

‘Furthest thing from it,’ is Tenpou’s miserable reply. ‘But I couldn’t help myself.’

 

He really couldn’t. The floor is gleaming, so are the tables and counter tops, and the windows are free of cobwebs. There’s even a vase of fresh wildflowers, masterfully arranged.

 

‘It’s…huh. It’s not that bad?’

 

Tenpou chooses to ignore him in favour of curling up into a depressed ball on the couch, nose buried in a book that Gojyo swears Hakkai never owned. He’s fast asleep by the time Gojyo leaves to buy a second, better round of groceries. Although he doesn’t know what Tenpou likes to eat, it’s easy enough to go for the ingredients that Hakkai always gets and if Old Lu’s eyes crinkle with compassion, it’s nothing Gojyo can’t pretend not to see.

 

He bumps into some of the girls while he’s cutting across Ironmongers’ Lane and daydreaming about how Goku used to wheedle pastries out of them from the famous shop around the corner.

 

‘Can’t join you today,’ he says, apologising with trademark grin in place when they try and convince him to follow them to the taverns, especially since Mei Li’s brother is visiting and would, she insists, love to get to know Gojyo. ‘Dinner’s waiting for me and I’m afraid it’ll start to nag.’

 

Not that there’s much chance of that happening—Tenpou’s never exhibited a single sign of disapproval since showing up like magic. But the words slip out of Gojyo’s mouth before he can stop them and he knows instantly that he’s made a mistake.

 

Their cajoling expressions fall off and they exchange worried glances at an alarming rate. Hell, they probably think that his inconsolable loss has sent him off the deep end. To be fair, it’s the exact same thought he hit upon yesterday.

 

‘A friend’s visiting from far off,’ he hastens to correct. ‘He’s staying with me for a bit.’

 

‘Oh!’ And now their glances turn knowing. Gojyo’s not going to try and understand. ‘Someone you met during your adventure?’

 

‘…kind of.’ Less of an adventure, more of a mission they were all coerced into. Yet somehow the best years of his life. The world’s funny that way.

 

The girls don’t try to keep him after that and he rushes home, uncertain about why he’s in a hurry at all. Tenpou’s still out like a light when he returns, long shadows cast across him as the red glow of the setting sun fades from the room. Gojyo places the brown bags in the kitchen and pads back out to look at him, tight knot growing in his chest.

 

In sleep, Tenpou’s a near flawless copy of Cho Gonou. The memory of him is still fresh in Gojyo’s mind, deathly pale as he lay in Gojyo’s bed just hours after he was found in the mud. Before Gojyo registers what he’s doing, he’s got a hand on Tenpou’s face, brushing over sharp cheekbones, sliding lower across his jawline, before heading down to the pulse in his neck.

 

There’s a steady beating against the tips of his fingers. Gojyo sighs, draws a deep breath, and looks up to see Tenpou watching him in befuddlement.  

 

‘General,’ he murmurs and it sounds like so much more than just a title. Gojyo snatches his hand away, heart pounding in its cage as he struggles to regain his cool and search for a way to explain just what the fuck he thought he was doing. He doesn’t miss the way Tenpou reaches for him, as if it’s the most natural thing to do when waking up, before stopping himself short. No doubt, the sharp edges of his mind are already cutting through the haze of sleep to arrive at all the mortifying conclusions.

 

He doesn’t say anything about it however.

 

‘Where’s the commander?’ he asks after a jaw-splitting yawn.

 

‘Who?’

 

‘The dragon.’

 

Oh. Gojyo has no idea. ‘He flew out a couple of days ago.’

 

‘I see.’ Tenpou shakes out the crick in his neck before standing to examine the bags in the kitchen with curiosity. ‘Lots of groceries. Excellent. I’ll portion them out and see whether we can have something different every day.’ There’s a moment’s confusion on his face but it’s gone in an instant and he goes about his business like he said he would.

 

Gojyo leans against the counter and tries not to look like he’s watching.

 

‘Hey,’ he says, once the chopping board comes out and the prawns are deshelled with terrifying efficiency.

 

‘Hm?’

 

‘You’re going to be staying?’

 

Tenpou cracks an egg into the wok, pleasant smile plastered on as he says, ‘Is that going to be a problem?’

 

‘No.’ It isn’t, not really. At least not in the way that Tenpou’s probably referring to. But his fingertips still feel hot from where they were pressed against skin and it’s getting hard not to wish that he thought more thoughts about Hakkai when he was still around to maybe think them back.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

There are always more offers of odd jobs around Chou An once summer is over. The Mid-Autumn festival celebrations always need menial labour and firewood collection starts around now. Gojyo can also offer to work for the palace as a sentry but he’ll draw the line at becoming a eunuch. Whatever it is, he needs a more reliable source of income than the well-meaning handouts that he’s getting from the marketplace folk.

 

This is especially true as he has another mouth to feed.

 

Since his arrival, Tenpou hasn’t done a thing but read, cook, and fight the urge to clean. It’s well and good—Gojyo’s not the kind to tell anyone to get off their ass and slog, but he needs a solution before he has to beg for alms outside the temple. It’s what ultimately sends him up those steps and to Sanzo’s office, hoping to discover that Keiun needs help subduing magical artefact thieves, thus giving Sanzo an excuse to pay him without too much condescension.

 

What he discovers instead is that Sanzo’s off on a deep and spiritual pilgrimage to achieve enlightenment.

 

‘Uh huh.’ Yeah right. Gojyo’ll believe that when he sees Sanzo shining as a golden Buddha in the sky. ‘And did his Great Bitch—Holiness say where to?’

 

‘Just that he’s gone to commune with the gods! The gods themselves! Only Sanzo-sama, who has been recognised as the pinnacle of the ten Buddhist virtues, will be granted an audience with the divine!’

 

 _Wrong_ , Gojyo doesn’t say, _in fact, I’ve got one in my house, finishing his fourth bag of candy in two days. Guess I must be pretty virtuous too. Hurray for me._ He also has no heart to tell the young acolyte that Sanzo’s probably holed up in a cave somewhere throwing a hissy fit at Kanzeon Bosatsu. Some dreams are just gagging to be ruined but Gojyo’s always had a soft spot for women and children. The kid will learn on his own anyway. Enough time spent around Sanzo has the tendency to jade even the most optimistic of followers.

 

The day’s still early. Gojyo doesn’t feel like going home to confront four white walls and the great lumbering elephant that’s standing in the corner of the room. He ends up taking a slow walk around the city, passing by the mansions, post offices, and bathhouses. Chou An is breath-taking in this season, the falling leaves of the elm trees carpeting the pavements in gold.

 

He’s rounding past a garden ward when he spots a large crowd of scholars in the pavilion, perhaps throwing one of their famous peony parties to celebrate the imperial examination results. Gojyo nearly goes straight past them when a familiar voice stops him in his tracks, has him craning his neck to see through the throng.

 

There in their midst is Hakkai, hair cropped neat and eyes crinkling as he laughs and recites something to thunderous applause. But that’s not possible because Gojyo left Hakkai behind in India and there’s no way he’s here now unless Gojyo’s hallucinating.

 

Gojyo doesn’t move away quickly enough. Hakkai sees him, says something to his refined acquaintances, and then he’s heading in Gojyo’s direction. His eyes, Gojyo notices, are the purple of the gods, and he is in fact not Hakkai at all.

 

It’s still a raw wound and Gojyo surprises himself by how much it hurts when he prods at it.

 

‘Why did you cut your hair?’ he asks tightly, once Tenpou draws level with him.

 

‘I’m rather handy with blades.’

 

‘That doesn’t answer my question and you know it.’

 

Tenpou’s lips curve upwards into a small, enigmatic smile and he doesn’t respond right then, brushing past Gojyo to step out into the streets. Gojyo trails behind him and notes how people stop to stare at Tenpou’s face. But of course. Hakkai’s death was national news and now he has ‘returned’ to wander amongst the living like the fairies in the old tales.

 

‘You’re rather slow at drawing certain conclusions,’ Tenpou says, as they step through the gates and into another sector of Chou An. ‘I thought I would facilitate the process.’

 

‘What do you mean?’

 

Tenpou gives a theatrical sigh. ‘While I wouldn’t usually recommend transcendence, it does give one the benefit of hindsight. Lifetimes worth of it.’

 

Gojyo lights up his cigarette and doesn’t reply.

 

‘Shall we purchase plums?’

 

‘If you want.’

 

The eastern market is closing shop for the evening. Tenpou jogs over to the fruit store, where Mrs. Chang is packing her remaining wares into the crates. She screams and drops a bag of oranges when she sees him.

 

‘ _Hakkai-_ san?!’

 

Without missing a beat, Tenpou nods, smiles, and apologises for startling her, every word and gesture delivered with Hakkai’s politeness. Gojyo ought to be furious. He realises that he’s too exhausted to be.

 

A large emotional smile breaks out over Mrs. Chang’s face and her lips wobble as she reaches over the dragon fruits and lychees to pull Tenpou into a firm hug. Tenpou throws Gojyo a startled look but it’s gone before Gojyo can call him out on it. He relaxes awkwardly into her embrace.

 

‘We all thought…’ she starts, before shaking her head and patting Tenpou on the cheek.

 

Tenpou pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge and tells her that he’s back now. Mrs. Chang’s nod is vigorous and she beams at the both of them like she’s their proud mother, one hand reaching out to clasp Gojyo by the arm.

 

‘My husband and I were so worried,’ she confides to him. ‘But now it’s all right again. He’ll take care of you just like before.’

 

Gojyo grins at her and tries not to cringe when he realises what she’s implying. He wonders if the entire Chou An’s thinking the exact same thing. It does explain a lot of the misguided attempts to introduce him to young men.

 

Judging from the laughter that Tenpou’s failing to conceal, he’s caught on as well. Damn it.

 

Then he goes on to stun Gojyo by carrying out a conversation that he should have no means of holding at all.

 

‘How’s your husband’s back injury, Mrs. Chang?’ Tenpou asks.

 

Gojyo fumbles and drops his cigarette.

 

‘Oh! You still remember after all these years! Dear boy, you’re too sweet. Sad to say, it’s only gotten worse since he fell down the stairs the two months ago. _Hai_ , he’s so clumsy, you’ll think he doesn’t want to live anymore!’

 

‘I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps I can take a look?’

 

‘Oh, no, no. We trouble you enough as it is…’

 

‘It’s no trouble. I would be happy to.’

 

They wind up with free plums, and also peaches, cherries, the best bunch of grapes. Tenpou hugs the bag to his chest and points out various landmarks to Gojyo, rattling off their history like he once swallowed the accounts whole.

 

‘I used to walk past this pagoda every week,’ Tenpou murmurs, ‘without remembering its political significance in the Han Dynasty. The colours have truly faded. Such a pity.’

 

Gojyo needs to know. He doesn’t want to guess anymore. ‘You’ll help Mr. Chang with _chi_?’ he asks, unsure if Tenpou will get the underlying meaning.  

 

Tenpou chuckles. ‘I’m no longer a demon, Gojyo. That’s going to be rather difficult, I’m afraid.’

 

‘Then how?’

 

‘I used to shirk military duties to meet with _Hua Tuo_ , the legendary physician. You may have heard of him?’

 

Gojyo sighs, stares down at the ground because Tenpou’s trying to meet his eyes and he’s too nervous for that kind of mind-reading shit right now.

 

‘Look. Just tell me, all right? How much of Hakkai do you actually remember being?’

 

He expects Tenpou to evade the question—the man’s harder to grasp than water and Gojyo’s never managed to confront Hakkai’s passive aggression and win. Far better to shout at Sanzo or fight it out with Goku.

 

But for once, Tenpou doesn’t dodge.

 

‘Is the answer that important to you?’ he asks, all traces of whimsicality gone.

 

‘Yes,’ Gojyo admits. It feels good to finally be honest about it.  

 

Tenpou nods like he’s made up his mind and steps closer to Gojyo, voice lowering to a near whisper. ‘I’ll let you in on a secret then. The night you found me dying in the rain, I smiled at you in recognition even though I didn’t know it then. When you told me you were none of my business, I tried to leave home and ended up in a basement killing your captors because nothing else felt right. When you asked me why I envisioned you in my future, I was speechless because I never contemplated otherwise. When I told you to leave your jacket on because your back was too sexy, I already knew about your markings and was terrified that you’ll discover them before I found a way to keep you safe from yourself. Does that answer your question somewhat?’

 

Bloody hell. ‘What _don’t_ you remember?’

 

‘Truthfully? Nothing.’

 

Gojyo’s head snaps up.

 

‘Fuck,’ he says. ‘So you’re—’

 

‘Yes,’ Tenpou says.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The Lotus is a restaurant that serves _dim sum_ in the evening. Gojyo orders two baskets of dumplingsand regrets it when he remembers that Goku’s not around to snatch them from him.

 

But Tenpou is and he stocks his plate up with heaps of custard buns and steamed cakes. His sweet tooth is stronger than Hakkai’s ever was but he holds his tea cup much as Hakkai used to, elegant fingers wrapping around the rim of blue and white porcelain.

 

‘Smoke?’ Gojyo offers, tapping out a stick and holding it out.

 

Tenpou pauses for a moment, seems to be at war with himself, but he eventually declines.

 

‘Thank you but I never smoke Hi-Lites,’ he says. ‘And I’m conflicted, shall we say, over a couple of my old habits.’

 

Gojyo snorts. ‘Hakkai can be judgmental.’

 

‘Ha ha, I should be more upset about that comment, shouldn’t I? This is rather disorienting.’

 

‘By the way, do you remember Official Wen?’

 

‘Oh. Yes. What about him?’

 

Gojyo smirks. ‘He liked to stop us in the streets to chat and I warned you that he has a thing for svelte gentlemen with green eyes.’

 

‘You’re mistaken, Gojyo. As I recall, he fancies strapping young lads with eye-catching colouring.’

 

‘Joke’s on your memory then. Turns out I was right.’

 

They gossip about Official Wen’s scandalous elopement with a Persian male prostitute from the North Hamlet, famous for his green eyes like emeralds and slender waist that’s supple like a young willow. Gojyo realises that he’s laughing for the first time since Houtou, throwing his head back and slapping his knees at Tenpou’s appalment. It’s a good meal and they spend most of it bantering and joking. Tenpou’s smile is set in Hakkai’s face, and it’s not the same but similar enough that Gojyo craves it badly.

 

The realisation leaves him feeling both pathetic and appreciative.

 

In his sleep that night, Gojyo sits under a tree and sips at his sake while laughing at Sanzo’s impractical long hair. Hakkai’s there by Gojyo’s side and he talks with a voice soft as silk, part sweet nothings and part war strategy. It’s too hard for Gojyo to understand so he focuses on Goku instead, young and carefree as a child as he scales the tree and falls out and laughs and scales it again and again.

 

Hakuryuu comes back in the morning, flying through the billowing white curtains. He nips Gojyo in hearty greeting then sniffs the air and squawks when Tenpou walks in with the freshly laundered sheets.

 

‘Oh dear,’ Tenpou says although there’s a sharp glint of amusement in his eyes.

 

Hakuryuu curls up on the far end of the couch and trembles with anxiety or indignation, Gojyo can’t tell. The dragon bristles and Tenpou’s smile takes on a teasing edge. There’s a story behind this. Gojyo isn’t sure he wants to know.

 

‘You were a lot more affectionate before I died,’ Tenpou says lightly. ‘Riding on my shoulder and sleeping in my bed.’

 

It shouldn’t be possible but Gojyo swears that Hakuryuu’s blushing. The dragon lets out a hissing noise and darts into the bedroom to evade Tenpou’s delighted laughter.

 

‘I take it he’s someone from Heaven.’

 

‘Now I understand why he bit you so much.’

 

Hakuryuu steers clear of them the entire day, only emerging from the nest he made in the blankets to slink out when Gojyo heads in to retire for the evening.

 

The mid-Autumn moon is bright when Gojyo jolts awake, grasping onto the fading remnants of a dream that’s left him panting with arousal. He slides a hand over his stomach, resting it on the waistband of his trousers but unwilling to jerk off to the memory of his best friend. The thought feels too much like disrespecting the dead and Hakkai’s incarnation is just a door away.

 

Hakkai’s incarnation is also talking to someone.

 

Gojyo sits up as his extrasensory hearing takes over, sharpening the details of the murmuring outside. It’s no better than eavesdropping but this is Gojyo’s bloody house and if they’re going to have private conversations they should do it out of earshot of demons, even half-assed ones like him.

 

‘You’re missed back in Heaven, Commander,’ Tenpou is saying. ‘Your son sits on your throne in the western seas but he waits to welcome you with open arms.’

 

‘A few more years won’t make a difference to them. They have all the time in the world.’ The low baritone that answers Tenpou is recognisable although Gojyo can’t place where he has heard it before.

 

‘The weather has been unstable since your departure. Your brothers are calling for your assistance.’

 

‘Soon. Have you seen the state that idiot’s in?’

 

‘You’re surprisingly compassionate.’

 

‘…I owe General Kenren a debt.’

 

Glass clinks in the kitchen. Tenpou must be getting water. ‘He’ll never claim it. That’s the sort of man he is.’

 

‘And that’s why you died for him.’

 

‘Partly. But you know the whole story.’

 

Gojyo walks out in the morning, not knowing what he expects to see. There’s only Tenpou, half-falling off the couch as he tosses in fitful sleep, and the white dragon curled up by his pillow and snoring in quiet slumber.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The winter frost settles into the garden. Tenpou sits in the doorway, knees pulled to his chest and ridiculous straw hat shading him from the afternoon sun as he pours over a book on winter herbs.

 

Gojyo tills the soil and waits for Tenpou to tell him where the cabbages should go and which spot is best for garlic. It’s the kind of knowledge that Gojyo’s bound to forget but it’s nice to be doing something again. His hands have been too light with the absence of shakujou’s dependable weight.

 

‘January is still a month away,’ Gojyo mutters. ‘Didn’t you say that the onions aren’t good to go till then?’

 

‘The men have been absolved from punishment,’ is Tenpou’s cryptic reply.

 

‘Huh?’

 

Tenpou’s a sneaky bugger that likes to drop titbits of information when Gojyo least expects it. He doesn’t look up from his reading but Gojyo knows that his attention isn’t on the white radishes.

 

‘They’ve transcended once more.’

 

Gojyo feels like he should know who Tenpou’s referring to.

 

‘That’s great?’ he tries and Tenpou looks up to smile at him with fond approval.

 

‘One day you’ll remember that you would have wanted to know.’

 

That’s too complicated for Gojyo to wrap his head around. He leaves Tenpou to his musings and goes over to check on the spring onion shoots.

 

There’s a thick layer of snow on the path when Sanzo finally returns from wherever he disappeared off to, skin burnt brown like he went too close to the sun.

 

‘Mountains,’ Sanzo grunts and refuses to elaborate further. He does accept the tea that Tenpou offers him though and even comments that the garden looks adequate.

 

‘So how’s enlightenment?’ Gojyo makes a point of asking.

 

Sanzo swears under his breath. ‘Fucking waste of time,’ he bites out. ‘I need to leave again, which is why I need you to carry out a job for me.’

 

‘The hell? I’m not your beck-and-call boy—’

 

‘There are cutthroats pretending to be monks seeking refuge from the cold. I need you to get rid of them. Here’s their last location.’

 

‘Why can’t you do it yourself?!’

 

Sanzo downs his tea and holds his cup out for more. ‘Because I have better things to do.’

 

‘You shitty monk—’

 

‘Gojyo,’ Tenpou interjects gently. ‘I’m sure Sanzo has his reasons.’

 

Sanzo gives him a thorough, considering look before his lips twitch. ‘It’s really you, then.’

 

Tenpou inclines his head in acknowledgement.

 

‘They don’t need you back up there?’ Sanzo indicates where with an impatient jab of his thumb at the sky.

 

‘Not for the predictable future. To be honest, I don’t think they know what to make of me.’

 

‘What are you intending to do here?’ Sanzo mutters. ‘Besides cause me problems.’

 

‘Perhaps participate in the court examinations,’ Tenpou replies, ‘which is wiser than attempting to travel in such weather, don’t you think?’

 

‘Yeah,’ Gojyo adds, ‘also better than flouncing about with so much paper on your shoulders. They’ll get wet in a blizzard and you’ll set them on fire when you try and dry them out. Remember how it nearly happened once?’

 

‘My gun,’ Sanzo reminds them, ‘is still loaded.’

 

There are about five different off-coloured comments Gojyo can make on that subject but he lets it go. Sanzo’s shoulders are hunched and Gojyo’s not imagining the fatigue lining his face. He thinks he knows where Sanzo went, where Sanzo’s going. He’ll follow if asked but Sanzo won’t. That would be admitting a dependency on Goku that he’s spent too many years pretending doesn’t exist.

 

At three in the morning, Gojyo throws a satchel over his shoulders and sets out on the path towards the nearby mountain roads. He doesn’t say a thing when Tenpou comes along, hands buried deep in his pockets against the stark chill of the northerly wind. He has a sword strapped to his waist, the old, traditional blade that Gojyo’s seen lying around the house.

 

‘Gods are allowed to kill?’ he asks over the howl of the impending storm.  

 

The wry smile on Tenpou’s face darkens into something sinister and he leans in to be heard, breath hot against the frozen shell of Gojyo’s ear.

 

‘By order of the Heavenly Emperor, I recently liberated their prison of an old friend of ours. I suspect that so long as I’m careful, a little grievous bodily harm at this point will be rather generously overlooked.’

 

Later, Gojyo thinks, when they’re out of the snow and warm by huge mugs of green tea, they’ll talk only about happier times.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The days grow warm but Sanzo doesn’t return. Keiun Temple works itself up into a frenzy and Gojyo opens the door to hordes of monks every day, begging him to search for their wayward master.

 

‘For the last time, I’ve no idea where he’s gone off to,’ he growls, then spends the rest of the day feeling bad when the elderly abbot faints from terror and stress.

 

‘You can hardly blame them,’ Tenpou murmurs, once the door is shut again and Gojyo’s stalking his way through the maze of books that are scattered about the floor. ‘They depend on Sanzo for his rather unique brand of guidance.’

 

‘I’m not blaming _them_ ,’ Gojyo replies. He grumbles into the beer that Tenpou slides across to him, catches himself before he uses the wrong name in his thanks. It’s been happening more frequently now, his brain no longer wishing to draw the distinction between Hakkai past and present. Tenpou never misses a beat, replying to his old name like nothing’s changed at all, even as he rakes up more bills in the local bookstore and leaves his purchases lying everywhere for Gojyo to burst blisters on.

 

Hakkai would never have spent unholy amounts on first editions. But Hakkai _would_ have said ‘a book is like a garden carried in your pocket’. He would have laughed at Gojyo’s retort of ‘then there’s soil in your pocket instead of money’, that same amused lilt that makes Gojyo choke on the unspoken words in his throat and build more shelves even though they don’t have space left after the new couch.

 

Later, over dessert, Tenpou writes a message to Sanzo for Hakuryuu to try and deliver.  There’s a mild spring drizzle outside and Tenpou is subdued as he stares out the window and into the silver curtain of rain, gaze distant like he’s off remembering something unpleasant.

 

Gojyo waits until the silence stretches too thin. Then he goes over, shakes Tenpou out of his reverie, and asks if he really did spend a great portion of the marketing money on pornography.

 

Tenpou blinks. ‘You mean _literature,’_ he says, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his face and that’s what Gojyo’s searching for.

 

‘Yeah, sure. _Dalliance_ with the Immortals.I’m convinced.’

 

‘It’s a work of art,’ Tenpou protests, but his tone is impish now, dark thoughts all but forgotten as he regards Gojyo with eyebrows raised and a challenging tilt to his chin.

 

‘So’s the Kama Sutra, they say.’

 

Tenpou nods in mock seriousness. ‘So it is,’ he says, and proceeds to give a blunt recount of all sixty-four positions, memorised without fault and delivered in the most courteous of Hakkai’s vocabulary.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Hakkai’s death anniversary falls on the summer solstice this year and Gojyo wakes up to the longest day and knows it in his heart. It occurs to him that he’s never visited the graves, not since he’s placed them there with so much reverence, and the guilt he feels at this is strong enough to crush.

 

Tenpou’s not in the house, which is a godsend because Gojyo doesn’t know how to tell him where he’s going. The room has been packed again. The table is laid but there isn’t anything cooking yet. Gojyo doesn’t eat breakfast, goes out to find red wildflowers, and strolls over to the bower that cradles the people he cares about.

 

The grey stones are covered in a fine layer of moss and damp with morning dew. He’s neglected them, he notes with increasing panic, wiping them down with his shirt and hating that he didn’t even think to bring cloth or mourning incense. He pushes the heaps of brown, withered leaves away from the graves before setting the flowers down.

 

‘Hey, Jien,’ he starts, not managing to finish the rest of his sentence when the words wouldn’t come. Not long after, footsteps shuffle up the path behind him. Gojyo doesn’t turn around. He knows who it is.

 

‘This is morbid,’ Tenpou observes, perturbed, as he stoops down next to Gojyo, sitting on his haunches and reaching out to trace the lines of Hakkai’s name. ‘I’ve never visited my grave before.’

 

‘Most people don’t.’

 

Tenpou’s face is pensive. He’s got plastic bags with him, filled with joss-sticks and food offerings for the dead. Gojyo accepts them with muted thanks, arranging the cakes first, then the apples stacked in fours, then the rice with the chopsticks standing upright in the centre of the bowl. He never thought he would have to do this for anyone.

 

‘You wrote my name wrongly. This is the character for ‘military’. Fitting, I suppose.’

 

‘Hand slipped,’ Gojyo grits out.

 

‘I don’t mind. It’s fine.’

 

But it’s not, Gojyo thinks, chest tight with irrational fury. How is it fine that Hakkai gets to choose to die for him and then decide that it’s no problem to come back and make Gojyo give a fuck about a version of himself that’s both more and less complete than he used to be? Gojyo never has any say in the matter, always was and _is_ one step behind, and he’s sick of it. Tomorrow he’ll take shit again but today’s out of the question.

 

‘Are you angry?’

 

‘Think I have every right to be.’

 

Tenpou doesn’t stop him when he leaves without another word, trudging off in a haze and ending up in Tao’s. The bartender takes one look at his face and brings him drinks on the house. Gojyo cannot say how long he sits there for, looping Hakkai’s death in his brain and picking it apart to see if there was anything he could have done to prevent it. He counts twenty-three different ways and presses his forehead to the cold whiskey glass as he laughs in defeat.  

 

Tao’s regulars enter in droves of twos and threes, always glad to see him until they realise the mood he’s in. No one bothers him after that, not till Mei Li and her posse of girls arrive to parade the latest, skimpiest fashion and notice him drinking himself under the counter.

 

‘Gojyo!’ Mei Li calls, going over despite the repeated warnings not to. He glances up, not drunk enough to take out his temper out on her but not sober enough to put up any pretence.

 

‘What is it? I don’t want to play today, Mei. Go find the other boys.’

 

She rolls her eyes. ‘I don’t want to play either, I know I’m not your _type._ ’

 

‘You don’t know my type.’

 

‘What? What is this? Did you have a fight?’ She clicks her tongue and pushes his hand away when he reaches for his drink again, staring daggers at Tao until he backs off from refilling Gojyo’s glass. ‘You shouldn’t be drinking in this state.’

 

‘Damn it, Mei—’

 

She looks around with concern. ‘Where’s Hakkai-san?’

 

‘Dead.’

 

‘Don’t be silly, Gojyo! Don’t say such inauspicious things! Where is he? At home? I’ll get someone to send you back.’

 

He presses the heels of his palm into his eyes. ‘I’m all right.’

 

‘You’re _not_!’ She shouts something at a couple of the lackeys behind the counter, ever-formidable, and they jump to attention. One day she’ll marry Tao, Gojyo thinks in despair, who’s been in love with her since they were teenagers, and this tavern will house an unbearable mother hen.

 

‘Don’t need their help getting back,’ Gojyo mutters. ‘He’s—’

 

Gojyo’s about to say ‘home’ but he’s struck with the sudden horrific realisation that he doesn’t know that for sure. His heart takes a freefall and he goes along with it, clambering off the stool, fingers braced so hard against the bar that the wood starts to crack.

 

‘Gojyo? You all right?’

 

There’s nothing keeping Tenpou with Gojyo but himself. Gojyo doesn’t need it spelt out plain as day to understand that Tenpou is only here for Gojyo’s sake, indulgence fuelled perhaps by remaining obligation from his lifetime as Hakkai, who needed Gojyo in a way that Tenpou’s independence never will. Even after a year of tenuous peace, Gojyo still doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that he can deny it as much as he wants, but Tenpou will never be _just_ Hakkai.

 

More than that, however, Gojyo doesn’t know how to deal with the thought of going home to an empty house.

 

By the time he realises that he’s moving, he’s already sprinting past the astonished guards at the city gates and towards the woods in the horizon. It’s been hours since he left Tenpou standing by the road and the cold fear of being alone without him, without Sanzo and Goku, sends him tearing across the distance. He only slows down when he’s within sight of the house, warm lights in the windows telling him that someone’s waiting up.

 

The door’s unlocked and he hesitates before pushing it open.

 

Tenpou’s seated at the kitchen table, hair pulled into a short ponytail as he arranges a game of solitaire with a deck of cards Gojyo hasn’t touched since Houtou. He looks up unsmiling as Gojyo walks in, dark eyes unreadable as they flicker over Gojyo’s face before settling back down on his game.

 

‘Would you like to join?’ he asks.

 

Gojyo peels off his coat, lets it fall to the floor, and stumbles over to the empty seat. He’s out of smart rejoinders for once, the words scattered in the aftermath of anxiety. Sweat drips into his eyes and he allows himself time to catch his breath before answering.

 

‘Solitaire’s for one.’

 

Tenpou’s frown deepens. ‘We’re both familiar with poker.’

 

That’s putting it mildly. ‘Hakkai clears me out under thirty minutes.’

 

There’s a wry twist to Tenpou’s lips. He’s been smoking, an unfamiliar brand with a light suggestion of vanilla.

 

‘Then you’ll be happy to know,’ he says, ‘that Marshal Tenpou never did have much luck.’

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Either Hakkai’s disgusting good fortune with cards has rubbed off on himself or Tenpou lied because Gojyo’s just sent a solid full house into a straight flush for the second time in less than five games. This isn’t even about skill anymore.

 

Or maybe Tenpou’s cheating by distracting him from his hand.

 

‘You have questions,’ Tenpou says, even as he draws two cards and makes Gojyo wonder if his hand really is that strong or if he’s pulling a bluff for once.

 

Gojyo errs on the side of caution and folds, but not without suspicion. ‘Yeah I do. Did you even have anything?’

 

Tenpou’s grin has teeth in it. He has picked up some bad habits from Gojyo. ‘Plenty,’ he says easily. ‘I had a five, an eight, a jack, a queen, and an ace.’

 

‘Fuck.’

 

‘Maybe you’ll concentrate better if you get some of those questions off your mind.’

 

The problem is, Gojyo doesn’t know where to begin. One wrong slip and the conversation will become excruciating. He thinks about what Tenpou said about their men, heard enough stories and caught enough hints to know that they were once both in the same army. It’s as safe a place as any to start.

 

‘You said we left some men up there?’

 

Tenpou takes one look at his hand and folds, no longer interested in the game, it seems, now that Gojyo’s talking.

 

‘Yes,’ he confirms. ‘They’re waiting for you to lead them again.’

 

‘Doesn’t Marshal kind of outrank General?’

 

‘It’s a complicated relationship.’

 

Gojyo has no idea what that entails, figuring he’ll get it sooner or later. He deals the cards one more time, not sure why he’s bothering when Tenpou folds without so much as a cursory glance at them.

 

‘Can you tell me,’ Gojyo asks, proud that the words hardly waver when they leave his mouth, ‘where Jien’s gone?’

 

Tenpou freezes. ‘That’s not allowed,’ he says softly, ‘but I can check if you want. Would you like me to?’

 

Gojyo would, but not at that kind of cost. ‘No,’ he decides. Jien has done good in his life. Wherever he’s gone, Gojyo believes it’s got to be a better place.

 

And of course, thinking about Jien leads to thinking about Hakkai’s sister and he doesn’t know how to bring this up without being an insensitive fuck. But Tenpou’s watching him and waiting with no censure on his face, and if he doesn’t ask now he may never get to again.

 

‘Kanan moved on?’

 

Tenpou doesn’t flinch like Gojyo expects him to but something in his face darkens before fading into imperceptibility.

 

‘I am Kanan,’ he says simply, and it makes such simple sense that Gojyo doesn’t know why he didn’t see it earlier. Twins, he thinks, one soul in two bodies, and remembers those first few feverish nights, Gonou screaming and crying in his sleep for a woman that’s more a part of him than his hand or leg. It’s easy to imagine Tenpou killing himself to preserve his pride, even at the cost of driving himself mad.

 

‘There’s something else on your mind.’ The kitchen light is dim but Tenpou seems to have no trouble reading him. Perhaps gods have heightened senses too. Perhaps Tenpou knows him better than Gojyo gives him credit for, which is more than Gojyo can say in vice versa. He wonders if he’ll ever understand Tenpou with the same confidence he had when it came to Hakkai. He wonders if General Kenren ever did. 

 

‘Did it hurt?’ he hears himself asking and once it’s out there’s no way he can take it back. It’s a stupid question. Of course Hakkai’s death fucking hurt. Gojyo knew that once he saw the blood, so much of it that there couldn’t have been any left within.

 

But Tenpou’s shaking his head. ‘I would do it a second and third time if I have to,’ he says, then holds up a hand when Gojyo tries to protest. ‘I let you die first once. Despite what I like to believe, I’m not strong enough to do it again.’

 

And when he says Gojyo’s name, lost like he’s uncertain why his heart is breaking, it’s followed by a constant echo of Hakkai’s voice and Gojyo’s nerves can’t take it anymore.

 

He stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor as he goes to the counter for his crumpled pack of cigarettes. He can’t get his hands to stop shaking long enough to light up, so he doesn’t protest when Tenpou joins him, stepping into Gojyo’s space as he draws out his own lighter.

 

‘Want one?’ Gojyo asks after his first draw. It does nothing to calm him down, heart going at a hundred per hour because Tenpou hasn’t moved away.

 

He feels rather than hears Tenpou’s laugh, breath ghosting against Gojyo’s cheek, a minute tremor in the body that’s mere inches away from his. ‘I don’t smoke Hi-Lites.’

 

‘Yeah. Forgot, sorry.’

 

‘You’re not going to ask me why?’

 

Gojyo lets Tenpou hold his gaze. ‘Okay,’ he says, ‘why?’

 

Hand on the counter behind Gojyo and he’s cornered as Tenpou leans in, impossibly close, and inhales deeply as Gojyo exhales towards the ceiling, like he can breathe Gojyo in with the cigarette smoke.

 

‘I don’t like the taste,’ he confides. ‘Never tried it and never will.’

 

‘That’s bullshit,’ Gojyo replies, rueful grin around his cigarette because he knows he’s been played like a puppet and he’s beyond caring. ‘How do you know if you’ve never tried?’

 

‘I’m glad you asked,’ Tenpou says and presses his lips to the corner of Gojyo’s mouth.

 

The ash from Gojyo’s cigarette burns the skin of his foot. He ignores it in favour of cupping a hand around Tenpou’s neck, pulling him closer until he’s a firm line against Gojyo’s front, legs tangling, weight braced against Gojyo’s chest. Tenpou kisses like Gojyo expects him to, a mind-blowing paradox of aggression and capitulation, lips pressing against Gojyo’s with a bruising, consuming pressure but parting in acquiescence at the first flick of Gojyo’s tongue.

 

Gojyo stubs the cigarette out on the counter before curving a hand around Tenpou’s waist, thumb slipping beneath the thin fabric of his shirt to mould itself against the hollow of a hipbone. Tenpou’s too thin, too forceful, too male but Gojyo wants him anyway, body responding instinctively to the ministrations of Tenpou’s wicked hands, fingers spidering under Gojyo’s singlet to splay over his heart like he knows he’s got a seat of power right there. In retaliation, Gojyo sucks on the side of Tenpou’s throat, just hard enough for it to hurt, anticipating the stuttered intake of breath that he already expects to receive. He’s not that surprised to learn that his body, if not his brain, knows what Tenpou wants, has probably wanted from him thousands of times before.

 

Tenpou slides a careless arm around his neck, reaches between their bodies to work on Gojyo’s trousers.  

 

‘I would have done this a lot earlier,’ he says against Gojyo’s collarbone, ‘but you never made what you wanted clear.’

 

‘Hakkai didn’t—’ Gojyo cuts himself when Tenpou slides a hand into his boxers. It’s unfair because Tenpou isn’t above playing dirty and that’s something about him that will never change.

 

‘Hakkai didn’t _want_?’ Tenpou challenges. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong.’

 

Then he hits his knees right then and there and Gojyo forgets to protest.  

 

‘Remove your shirt,’ Tenpou says. It isn’t a suggestion. Gojyo’s obeying before he even realises what he’s doing.

 

Tenpou’s tongue is hot against Gojyo’s skin as it laves across the markings on his abdomen, painting a lazy trail down until it drags long and languid against Gojyo’s cock. Gojyo can’t keep his hips from jerking forward and Tenpou’s eyes, still behind those bloody glasses of his, are smug with triumph.

 

‘Patience,’ he commands, then goes straight against his own instructions and swallows Gojyo’s cock.

 

‘ _Fuck—_ ’ Gojyo has to prop his elbows on the counter to hold himself up. Tenpou _knows_ Gojyo’s body as well, knows what makes his knees buckle with too much—not enough pleasure. His tongue teases into the slit before withdrawing to lap at the precome beading at the head of Gojyo’s cock. Tenpou watches him through dark lashes and Gojyo leans forward to take in the sight of Tenpou’s mouth, red and tight as Gojyo fucks into it, glistening moist with fluid. He doesn’t seem to mind when Gojyo slides a hand into his hair, gently at first, grip tightening only when Tenpou quickens his pace, taking more and more of Gojyo with each bob of his head until Gojyo loses all awareness of himself, thought caving to the build-up of orgasm.

 

He comes before he can warn Tenpou, who let’s Gojyo dribble out of his mouth, half-swallowing, half-spilling each spurt in a sloppy show that Gojyo’s certain is intended for him. There’s come smeared on Tenpou’s fucking glasses, for god’s sake, and it’s a kink he’s never known himself to have but maybe he just needed some assistance recalling it.

 

‘C’mere,’ he says, throat hoarse, tugging Tenpou to his feet for a messy, open-mouthed kiss. He can taste himself on Tenpou’s tongue and he draws Tenpou’s glasses off to toss onto the counter. Without them, Tenpou’s eyes are bigger, more guileless as they lose their piercing edge, and it no longer matters to Gojyo that they’re not the same colour as before. Gojyo tugs at Tenpou’s belt buckle, then at his zipper until he gets Tenpou’s trousers just out of the way. Tenpou’s cock is hot in his hand and he shivers as Gojyo strokes him, forehead pressed to Gojyo’s shoulder, quiet moans hitching into a gasp when Gojyo squeezes him at the hilt. He’s slumped against Gojyo by the time he comes, a solid, reassuring weight that sinks them slowly to the ground in an ungainly sprawl.

 

‘Towel,’ Tenpou mumbles, and Gojyo hauls himself up with a groan for the roll of kitchen wipes, wetting one in the sink and handing it over. Tenpou wipes at his mouth and cheeks with such matter-of-factness that it’s hard for Gojyo to be embarrassed about coming all over a man’s face and enjoying it.

 

Besides, there are other things he’s curious about.

 

‘So.’

 

Tenpou’s already looking for his lighter.

 

‘Hm?’

 

‘How long since?’

 

A small shrug. ‘Five hundred years, give or take.’

 

‘No kidding. And how long for?’

 

‘Two years, give or take.’

 

‘Oh.’  

 

Tenpou’s cataloguing his reaction. He’s close enough that he doesn’t seem to need his glasses to study Gojyo’s face, nose brushing against Gojyo’s cheekbone when he finally smiles.

 

‘One day in Heaven lasts as long as a year on earth,’ he says. ‘Do the math.’

 

Gojyo does.

 

‘ _Oh_.’

 

‘I rather thought you’d see it that way.’

 

After, the sake is sweet on Gojyo’s tongue as he listens to stories about Heaven. Tenpou raids the fridge and comes back with a pack of crisps and a dubious container of dried squid that may have gone bad a couple of weeks ago.

 

‘And then what?’ he asks, catching the snacks when Tenpou tosses them at him. He slides the sake flask over and Tenpou takes a sip straight from it.

 

‘And then,’ Tenpou continues, ‘you started fucking me up against the door, telling Souko that there were mountains of books and that they would topple over and kill us both if he tried to come in. But he needed a seal of approval from one of us so you sent him back to the barracks to fetch yours since we were too far gone at this point to begin searching for mine.’

 

Gojyo chortles. ‘Did he realise?’

 

‘Judging by how fast he took off, I daresay so.’

 

‘Huh. And to think all the ladies in town think you’re a prude.’

 

Tenpou’s smile widens. ‘But you know better.’

 

‘What can I say? You were always one suspicious bastard.’

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The earthquake hits when Gojyo’s packing some of the new furniture that he built for Mrs. Chang. Panic leaves him blinded by images of a burning castle sinking into a black chasm.

 

He recovers to find himself lying on the floor next to the red oak cabinet and it takes him a moment to realise that he’s thousands of miles away from India. Also, nothing’s broken or shaken out of place and Gojyo’s starting to think it’s a figment of his rather unstable imagination when another wave hits, then again, until it makes five in total and he’s clutching at his head in agony.

 

Magical backlash. He remembers the last time he felt something like this. The Sanzo priests aren’t meant to activate the sutras in tandem.

 

No way.

Hakuryuu’s a colossal creature by now, too big to fit into the house, and majestic and regal like a king. He lifts off the roof when Gojyo runs out into the garden, wings sweeping up a small hurricane as he expresses his apprehension. So he’s felt it too. That’s comforting at least.

 

Gojyo hitches a ride into town, the jeep barrelling into the marketplace, some miracle preventing Gojyo from killing anyone in his haste. The imperial academies are in Central Chou An and Tenpou’s is no exception, his beautiful school shining like a gem in the centre of a lush garden and boasting a historical record of producing all three top examination graduates in the same year.

 

The scholar at the gates greets Gojyo with a bashful reverence reserved for the person that their master’s known to be fucking. It’s usually excruciatingly awkward, with Gojyo side-stepping double entendre about bitten peaches and cut sleeves, but he ignores it this once.

 

Tenpou’s in his study, decked out in the official garb that Gojyo peeled off him just the night before, but now isn’t the time to think about that because Kanzeon Bosatsu’s present as well, one hand fisted in the front of Tenpou’s robes. Tenpou’s staring back at Her, seemingly unfazed to the point of being bored, but Gojyo has learnt to pick up on his tells. He’s certain that Tenpou is angry.

 

‘Where has My nephew gone?’

 

‘If you don’t know, Your Omniscience, I hardly will.’

 

Kanzeon leers. ‘Yes, you’ve been rather preoccupied, haven’t you?’ She says, leaving Gojyo to guess just how many deities have been watching when they aren’t supposed to be.

 

‘I thought I was promised a boring life.’

 

‘I gave you something better but I can take it back again.’

 

Tenpou’s eyes narrow and he brushes her hand off his clothes, a disrespect that even Gojyo knows isn’t done to someone of Her rank.

 

’Eighty-four trials for enlightenment,’ he says. ‘Surely Your Holiness doesn’t intend to change the rules?’

 

Kanzeon shakes her head. ‘I don’t need to. Your sacrifice at Houtou is sufficient, congratulations again. But General Kenren’s short one trial, so unless you would rather he head back into the reincarnation wheel—’

 

‘What’s that stupid monk done?’ Gojyo interrupts. ‘It’s the bloody sutras, isn’t it?’

 

‘How reassuring that one of you still cares about duty.’ Kanzeon folds her arms and cocks her hips against Tenpou’s desk as She explains. ‘My idiot nephew has decided to use the sutras to open the earth and find Seiten Taisei.’

 

‘Goku?’

 

‘He lost control during a fight with the ex-war god Prince Nataku and embedded the both of them in the heart of the world.’

 

‘Damn it, can’t that brat stay out of trouble for once?!’

 

Tenpou neatens the feathers on his fan before tossing it back onto the heap of junk on his table. ‘What do you expect from us?’ he says tiredly.

 

‘Just bring them back,’ is Kanzeon’s reply. ‘I don’t care how. It’s nothing you wouldn’t do even if I didn’t make it a personal favour, isn’t that right?’

 

Tenpou puts on a huge display of reluctance but they end up agreeing as always.

 

‘And we have it on Your Holiness’ word that this would count as General Kenren’s eighty-fourth trial?’ Tenpou asks as She makes to depart.

 

Kanzeon’s smile is razor sharp. ‘I’m the Bodhisattva of Mercy. I won’t be so cruel as to retract on my promises, Marshal. You have allowed your good judgment to be clouded by emotions.’

 

‘Please speak for yourself, Holy One.’

 

He waits for her to leave before his mask slips, fatigue vanishing to be replaced by an excitement as he turns to Gojyo.

 

‘We’ll have to bring flowers to your brother first, of course,’ he says, eyes softening when he speaks of Jien. ‘And I’m sure I can arrange for someone to tend to the grave sweeping. My young students are always so eager to please! It’s time to learn that earnestness is easily exploited.’

 

‘You look thrilled.’

 

‘It is better to travel ten thousand miles than to read ten thousand books,’ Tenpou quotes, already flitting about his room in search of something. It’s probably the sword. Gojyo’s going to wait for a bit before telling him it’s in the umbrella stand back home. Lately, he’s gotten too comfortable with leaving the cleaning up to Gojyo.  

 

‘Like hell that’s what you said the other day.’

 

Tenpou’s smile is winsomeness at its best. ‘We’re bound to get bored of mundanity anyway.’

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Notes: 
> 
> 1) Poem in the summary was written by Mary Elizabeth Frye. 
> 
> 2) Title comes from an ancient Chinese proverb: All of life is walking in dreams, all of death is going home. 
> 
> 3) For those who are curious, the character 'kai' in Hakkai's name: 戒 is one stroke away from the character 'rong': 戎 and that changes its meaning from Buddhist restraints or commandments to a classical Chinese general term for weapons, the army, or military matters.


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